


S&G Drabbles

by orphan_account



Category: Simon & Garfunkel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23506441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Little writings of my favorite boys.This story is an angst-free zone and I will change this summary if that ever changes.
Relationships: Art Garfunkel/Paul Simon
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	1. Snowballs (a short one)

**Author's Note:**

> Idk how to tag people on here but thank you to my friend for doing a randomly generated prompt and then letting me write this in her Twitter DMs

Suddenly, Paul was pelted with a snowball. He raised an eyebrow and put his schoolwork on the bed where he was sitting, standing up and walking towards the window where the snow came from. Gazing from his window, to the street below, he can see the freshly fallen shroud of snow being packed into small spheres by Art.

“Artie, what are you—“ 

_SMACK_

A snowball hits him in the face before he can finish his sentence. He falls backward onto the floor, defeated, until he hears hurried breathing, getting closer to his bedroom. Art’s head of hair appears in the window first, followed by a face, cheeks flushed from the cold, mittens clutching the windowsill. 

  
“What do you want?” Paul complains jokingly.

  
Art seems to hesitate, “Well...if I’m being honest, I came here for dick.”


	2. I'm (Not) Listening!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art is telling a story, Paul is not paying attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let you know ahead of time, Art is wearing the outfit from that one part in the Heart In New York music video...yeah, that one...

"And so I told the guy who I was and who I was looking for..." Art continued talking as he stood from his chair and walked into the kitchen, putting his plate in the sink and scrubbing it down briefly.

Paul tried to pretend like he hadn't been staring at the taller man as Art came back to the seat across from Paul. He knew Art was still talking, but he'd stopped listening. Paul was more focused on other things. He was analyzing Art's face and body language as nonchalantly as he could manage. Paul's version of being nonchalant was seeming tired and uninterested, his arm propping up his head, and his free hand lazing in his lap. He took note of every detail as Art talked. The curve of his nose. The way his hand held the the handle of his coffee mug. The way his hair looked when it was freshly cut, as it happened to be today. His cheekbones, his smile, his fading accent when he talked. And his eyes. God, you could get away with anything if you had eyes like Art's.

Paul was trying to only keep the pure thoughts in his head. He forced out the thoughts about Art's loose-fitting pajama shirt, the collar hanging below his collarbone, revealing a small section of the hair at his chest. And no, he wouldn't think about how, though the shirt was loose, the sleeves were tight and short, cutting off around Art's biceps, revealing toned upper-arms followed by thin wrists and slender, graceful hands. Paul bit his lip, not daring to recall the way Art's boxer shorts framed his lower body, leaving some to the imagination, but not nearly enough.

"Are you even listening?"

Paul snapped out of his reverie. "Yes! No! I was thinking about your butt!" He stated, rather matter-of-factly, blushing nonetheless.

Art rolled his eyes. "You always are, I don't know what I expected," he joked.

Paul fought a smile. His face was warm, partly due to minor embarrassment, partly due to the temperature of the house. Art stood up and walked to where Paul was sitting. He crouched into a squatting position, pulling Paul's face towards his, his hand on Paul's chin, only leaving the smallest of gaps between them.

"If you wanted it, you could've just said so." Art's voice was low and had a rumbling quality to it. "And, don't say 'butt,' you're not a child," he smiled, his lips brushing against Paul's as he spoke.

It was Paul who bridged the gap, pulling away just as quickly. "Well, since you're so smart and mature, what should I say instead?" he teased.

"Just say 'ass,' obviously"

"You're an ass," Paul laughed, before pulling Art in for another quick kiss.

They bickered like an old married couple, the only difference being that the two of them still loved each other.

"Now, tell your story again?"


	3. In the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul forgets his coat,,,on purpose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im not counting their bickering as angst bc couples argue about stupid little things all the time!!! This is a little longer than I intended it to be, but I'm happy with it. Enjoy! :)

"I'm cold," Paul complained.

"You should've thought of that before we left," Art shot back, annoyed at Paul for forgetting they lived in New York, and that a light jacket wouldn't quite suffice on a rainy day.

The two were walking down a secluded dirt road. No one was around, and the trees blocked them from peering eyes. This path was only taken so they would be able to hold hands as they walked. The petty argument they got themselves into was proving to be a buzzkill for that purpose. The rain poured down on their heads heavily, the men walked on, drenched, without an umbrella to their name. 

"Typical Artie..." Paul tutted, shaking his head softly. 

Art stopped in his tracks, calculating whether he should be offended or not. After deciding he _should_ be offended, he caught up with Paul. "What's that supposed to mean?" He walked with aggravation, taking small, fast steps. 

Paul huffed out a sigh, and pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head once more. "It means, you make obligatory suggestions, you leave no real reason for people to do what you say. Passively suggesting, 'Oh, it's raining, a coat might be a good idea.' What does it mean when you say something 'might be' a good idea?"

"This is a pointless argument!" Art blurted out.

"It's not pointless! I'm sick of your 'do-this-if-you-want-to' statements." Paul threw his hands up in frustration, then entangled them across his chest, trudging his rain boots through the newly-formed mud, like a preschooler, throwing a tantrum.

Art was confused. "You- you are a grown man?! I shouldn't have to tell you to do these things, Paul."

"It doesn't matter if I'm a grown man! I don't want you to passively suggest things to me anymore, Artie. Either shove the coat into my arms, or don't say anything about it at all." Paul flicked his hand in a cutting motion to signal the end of the conversation, and the two walked in silence for a bit. The only sound was the downpour of rain all around them.

But, after not long, Paul started to speak again. "And here's another thing that you do that pisses me off-"

Art pulled Paul by the collar of his shirt, his tugging hand unavoidably stretching the cold, damp fabric. Paul gasped at the gesture, but still returned the inevitable kiss when it arrived. He pressed his body against Art's, opening his eyes long enough to notice that, due to the rain, Art's normally curly hair had calmed to a dull wave. The blond had darkened to brunet, matted to Art's forehead in a fashion that Paul was sure Art didn't appreciate. Paul also recognized that Art had only done this to get him to shut up. It had worked, but it was rather low, as Art was more than aware of Paul's greatest weakness: his libido. 

Art pulled away from the kiss, but kept Paul's shirt tightly in his hand. A smile tugged coyly at his lips. "It is completely unbelievable how horny you are right now. This is unnecessary!" he laughed, loosening his hand.

Paul's eyes widened and his face went pink with embarrassment. "I- well, I mean- d'you wanna have this conversation, y'know, somewhere else?" Paul's voice was small and cowardly, the voice he only ever really used when he was flustered or upset. Right now he might've been a little bit of both. "Can we go back to the apartment?" he asked. 

Art nodded in response, taking Paul's hand in his own, barely regarding how cold his fingers were. And so they walked, hand in hand, as the rain fluctuated in intensity, heading back the way they came, to their little apartment. They could have all the pointless arguments they wanted to have there; but, as it seemed, there weren't enough pointless arguments in the world to pry them out of each other's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Later that night, 11:24 PM -
> 
> "What's so enticing to you about the idea of me telling you what to do?" 
> 
> "God, Artie, leave it alone!"


End file.
